


James Dean Festival

by Snarkustotallus



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Brotp, Case Fic, Coyote - Freeform, Groping, Human Impala, Humor, Multi, Sassy Sam, Schmoop, Season 8, Tickling, Trickster - Freeform, domestic!Cas, hint of human!impala/dean, touchy feely girly crap - that Dean kind of really hates
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-25
Updated: 2013-11-02
Packaged: 2017-12-03 14:10:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 16,183
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/699102
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Snarkustotallus/pseuds/Snarkustotallus
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Secondary title: Dean likes His Men like He likes His Cars. While out on a hunt, the Winchester brothers have no idea what to do when the Impala is suddenly human. It's more trouble, and awkward, for Dean than Sam. Poor Dean.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. At Least There's Pie

**Author's Note:**

> I love the idea of human!Impala. There's not much in the way of relationships in this (so far, at least), but I'll at least hint at it. My friend said this reminds her of season 1 Sam and Dean, but note that this is set after episode 11 of season 8, but before episode 14 (basically, after LARPing and before the Trails).

 They were in some town in the middle-of-nowhere Indiana, on a hunt. Sam and Dean had tracked the thing right back to its house – which is where they were now.

They had it cornered in the kitchen, their sharpened and blood painted stakes raised.

“No where else to run,” Dean told the thing. He, or it, looked at the hunter and smiled. _Well that's fucking creepy_ , Dean thought to himself. Sam was slowly approaching it, ready to move when there was a sudden burst of light coming from the thing. Dean shielded his eyes and raised his shoulder, preparing for the blow.

“SAM!”

“DEAN!”

Just like that the light was gone, and so was the monster.

“What the hell was that?” Dean asked his brother, looking around the room.

Sam shrugged. “I have no idea.”

They grabbed their gear and headed back to the Impala.

“I thought we were dealing with a typical pagan god here. You ever see one of them do that?” Dean popped the trunk and threw his duffel inside.

Sam tossed in his own knife and sharpened stake. “Nope. I guess it's time to hit the books.”

“Right,” Dean said unenthusiastically. “Well, why don't you do that, while I go get me a cheeseburger.” Getting into the driver's seat, he added, “and some pie”.

 

* * *

 

Dean pulled the Impala into the parking lot of a small, run down sort of diner on the outskirts of town in the middle of a trailer park.

Eyeing the place, Sam turned to his brother. “Really, Dean?”

“What?” Dean asked, shrugging.

Despite the look of the place, Sam went in, bringing his laptop with him. He would've just stayed at the hotel, but he was hungry.

The diner looked exactly as Dean expected it to. The tables were cheap, the boots were cheap, the chairs were cheap. Everything was cheap. Tacky wall decorations were every where he looked, most sporting stupid sayings about work or retirement, and a TV behind the counter was showing the local news.

A short, skinny blonde in an apron came over to take their orders not long after they'd taken their seats. “Ya'll are comin' in late,” the waitress said to them as she approached. “You here for the festival?”

“Ah, no,” Sam answered while Dean asked, “What festival?”

“The James Dean festival. Ya'll didn't know? Yeah, Fairmount's where he grew up, so every year there's this big car festival. People from all over come to see it.” Dean's face lit up like a little kid's on Christmas morning. Sam hadn't seen his brother look that happy since the Moondoor larping battle.

“Awesome.” Dean muttered happily after the waitress took their order.

“We could use a little fun,” Sam told him. Dean just sighed while Sammy opened up his laptop to start researching.

 

* * *

 

When the waitress set down Sam's chicken salad, Dean looked at his little brother in dismay. “Seriously?”

Sam sighed. “What, Dean?” he asked patiently.

“It's rabbit food,” his older brother answered incredulously, gesturing to Sam's plate.

“Not everyone can eat like you, Dean. Maybe I don't want to clog my arteries with meat.”

“A real man eats meat.”

“So I'm not a real man?”

“No. You aren't.” Dean bites into his burger emphatically and grunts, well more like moans. “They make a damn good burger here,” he says around his food. Sam watches with his eyebrows furrowed before ignoring his brother with an eye roll and going back to his research.

When Dean was finally done with his pie an hour later, the brothers left the diner, Sam not having a clue about what they were actually dealing with.

“I think I'll hit up the library, see if there's anything there we can use.”

“Alright. Drop me off at the hotel though. I want to catch some Zs,” he said, finishing off his coffee to-go. Standing in the middle of the parking lot, Dean suddenly stopped and looked around. “ _Where's_ my car?” Dean asked in a, if it doesn't show up in the next two seconds I'm going to strangle someone, kind of tone.

“You parked it right here,” Sam said in disbelief.

“Someone _stole_ my baby?!” Dean was starting to hyperventilate. Sam would've tried to calm him down, but how could he? All their gear was in that car. Not only that but it was Dean's _baby_. Even Sam had some sentimental feelings for the Impala. It was the closest thing to home they ever had growing up.

“Your car wasn't stolen.”

Dean whirled around to see who had spoken. A man with short, dark hair wearing a leather jacket stood there, hands in his pockets. He could tell that his casual stance was just a cover to hide his anxiety. To Sam, he looked a lot like his brother in some ways. Despite the guy's age, Sam thought girls would probably find him attractive; he had this kind of manly-model look going on.

“And who are you?” Dean asked not-so politely.

“You don't recognize me?”

“Obviously not.” From the way Dean looked and sounded, Sam would have to be ready soon. Whether to hold him back or help him, Sam couldn't tell yet.

“We've had a lot of great moments together. I can't believe you don't remember.” The man made as if to grab Dean's hand, but the hunter backed away hastily. Sam was honestly surprised his brother hadn't decked the guy already, especially with that creepy pick-up line.

Sam stared at the guy in mock disbelief. _I understand the chicks, but now older dudes? Maybe Dean's been hanging around Cas too long._ “Uh wow, Dean. You never mentioned him before,” Sam teased. “Sorry, what's your name?”

“Dean's only ever called me Baby.”

“I did not need to know that,” Sam said, hands on his hips as he bent over slightly, looking at the ground. He bit his lip as he tried _really_ hard not to fall over laughing, his shoulders shaking from the effort.

Dean turned to glare at his brother, “I never called him baby! I've never seen him before in my life.”

“Yes, you _have_ Dean.” The way this guy was looking at Dean strangely reminded him of the way Cas would look at him. In a sickening way, it also reminded him of the way some girls would look at him. _I do_ not _want to think about this dude and my brother_. Dean didn't hesitate in grabbing the man and pinning him against the wall, his forearm pressed hard against his throat to keep him there. Sam was right there next to him, ready to do whatever needed to be done. “What did you do with my car?” he asked menacingly.

“Nothing, nothing! Come on, don't scratch the paint.”

“What?” Sam asked, bewildered.

“Come on! You guys really don't recognize me?”

“I told you before, I've no idea who you are!” Dean was getting really tired of this.

“I'm the Impala!”

Dean wasn't buying it. Neither was Sam. “Stop fucking around. Who are you?”

“I told you,” the man ground out. He should've been afraid, terrified, but he sounded more pissed than anything.

“I'm calling bullshit.”

“You would. You don't trust anyone 'cept your precious Sammy. Well, and your angel, but even then. What the hell do I have to do to get you to stop man-handling me? Not that I'd usually mind but this is a little too rough, even for me.”

“Crowley send you?” Dean asked, practically foaming at the mouth. One thing Sam knew about his brother, you don't mention his big brother complex or his angel-man, not when he considers you a threat. Might as well just ask him to kick your teeth in. Or to just stab you and get it over with.

“No, _Crowley_ didn't send me. I'm not a fucking demon, Dean. Go ahead, try and exorcise me if that'll make you feel better.”

Dean looked over and Sam and nodded. He always did think Sam somehow did it better. “ _Exorcizamus te omnis immundus spiritus_ ,” he began. By the time he was halfway through, he stopped.

“Sam,” Dean told him, annoyed, “finish the damn exorcism.”

“Dean,” he said with a sigh, “I don't think he's a demon.” Sam paused and put a hand on Dean's arm, titling his head as he tries to get Dean to look him in the eye. “I think he's telling the truth, Dean.”

“A car can't just _turn into_ a person!” Dean argued.

Sam shrugged, “Okay, but he's not a demon so we need another tactic.”

His brother glares at the guy he's still holding him, as if he's trying to bore into his head for answers. “Tell us something only the Impala would know,” Dean demanded eventually.

“Like the first time you had a girl in the backseat? I think her name was Kim.”

Dean let go, backing up with wide eyes, his lips moving as he muttered to himself.

“I remember you giggling a lot whenever she would-”

“Stop.” Dean was out of his shock now, back to his usual, grumpy, intimidating self. Except that Sam thought he was blushing.

“Is that enough proof for you?”

“No,” Sam answered, confused about Dean's reaction, at the same time Dean quickly replied, “Yes.”

Sam's eyebrows came down and together, wrinkling his forehead. “Uh, Dean. You realize who, or I guess what, this guy is saying he is, right? You can't be serious.”

“Stop it with your bitch face.”

He breathed deep through his nostrils. “So our _c-a-r_ is now this _m-a-n_? Really, Dean?”

“We've seen weirder,” his brother said with a shrug, as if that explained everything.

Changing tactics, Sam asked, “Who's Kim?”

“Shut up, Sam.” Dean ignored the other Winchester, instead turning to the other guy. “How the hell is my baby a person? How the _hell_ are you a person?”

The man shrugged. “I don't know.”

“How can you not know?” At this point, it was obvious Dean had had enough of monsters and angels and demons messing with his shit. “How the fuck can you not know how you're _human_.”

“Maybe it's the same thing we've been tracking. We know it's not a run of the mill pagan god, and more powerful.”

“Fuuuuuuuuuuuuuck,” Dean growled, clenching his jaw.

“Listen, we'll go to the library like we planned, see if we can find any hints to what has this kind of power,” Sam reasoned. If Dean believed this guy, Sam was going to back him up. Well, until he could prove otherwise. With all the shit Sam had done and made Dean go through, he could at least have some faith in him. That didn't mean Sam wouldn't keep a careful eye on their humanoid car. The second this guy tried anything, Sam would be there ready to stab him with everything he can think of.

Rubbing his forehead, Dean let out a sigh. “It would be nice if we could get a little break every once in a while.” Sam just shrugged. He was thinking the same thing. “You go to the library. We'll go to the hotel – I still want my four hours.”

“Right.”

“Why the hell are you looking at me like that?”

Sam shrugged, a playful smile on his lips. “Nothing, I just. You guys seem to have some history I don't know about and...”

“And _nothing_. He's my fucking car you prick.”

Sam put his hands up defensively at the same time the other man let out indignantly, “Hey! I'm not just a car! And I have a name.”

“I am _not_ calling you Baby,” Dean retorted.

“You never had issue with calling me that before.” Sam raised his eyebrows, giving Dean that oh- _really_ -now look. If Sam was good at anything, it was being the bratty little brother who knew just the right way to make Dean squirm.

“Goddamn it, Sammy! Control your eyebrows!”

“Just make sure you put a sock on the door handle if you guys are-” he cut off when Dean threw his empty paper cup at him.

“Go do your damn research,” Dean growled as Sam turned around and left, grinning stupidly from ear to ear. “Bitch,” he muttered at his brother's retreated back.

“Jerk!” Sam shouted, waving while he walked away.


	2. Nothing Ever Goes How He Expects

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean and his now human Impala have a chat, which escalates quickly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just letting you know that I've fixed and updated Chapter 1 quite a bit just before posting this chapter, so if you read it before you might want to go check it out - mostly the part when the Impala is trying to convince them that he's their car - or used to be.

 As his little brother disappeared down the street, Dean turned to... _What the fuck do I call him. I am still_ not _calling him Baby_. “So I guess all our gear just magicked away when you were turned?” he asked, unable to keep the irritance from his voice. All of their weapons, literally _all_ of them, were tucked safely in the Impala, only to disappear because of some fucking monster. _Awesome_. Why the hell does every single thing that goes bump in the night, have to pick at Dean, and he guessed Sam too, all the time? Well, he knew why, and trying to kill the bastard probably didn't make it any more happy with the Winchesters, but still. It was fucking annoying.

“Ah, no. It's over here,” he said, leading Dean around the corner of the building where all their stuff was left in a pile. “I packed it all up and moved it over here so no one would get any weird ideas.”

“Huh. Good thinking,” Dean said, impressed.

“I learned from the best.”

The hunter couldn't stop the smile that tugged at the corner of his lips. The other man grabbed two duffel bags, shouldering them easily. “You know, for a 40-something-year-old dude, you don't look that bad,” he said, clearing his throat.

His baby smiled at him, “Thanks, Dean. Though I admit the credit to _that_ goes to you. You're the one who always took care of me, keeping me in shape.”

He was glad it was dark enough that the other man couldn't see him blush as he kept his eyes on the pavement just ahead of him while they walked through the parking lot.

After a few moments of silence, he finally asked, “So what _do_ I call you?”

The other man shrugged. “I don't really care, honestly.”

“I guess I could call you Impala?”

“Sure.” His now human car was seemed to keep true to his word. Dean thought he could probably call him Bob or Nancy if he wanted to. He wasn't sure if it was because he didn't feel the need to be called anything, or if it was because he didn't care what _Dean_ called him.

They were walking down the road now, Impala on the shoulder while Dean walked along the white line. A passing truck honked as it swerved around them. Dean happily gave the guy a New York hello.

“So do you remember everything? You know, from when you were a car?” It made him a bit apprehensive for a lot of reasons, least of all for someone knowing his probably most embarrassing moments.

“Yup.”

“Everything?” _Great_ , Dean thought, _one more person I have to protect because he caught up in all my shit._ He probably couldn't survive losing another important friend. But he would. Because he would have to. Everyone always left him, sooner or later. Almost all of them bloody.

“Everything.”

“Oh.” A blush creeped onto Dean's cheeks as he thought of the last time he was in the Impala alone.

“Ah. You're thinking about the other night while Sam was asleep when you sat in the back seat for some 'alone time'.” The hunter wasn't expecting Impala to just come right out and say it. He practically jumped. It irked him especially because of the man's casual tone, as if he were just talking about a trip to the post office.

Dean quickly turned away, his face bright red. Impala smiled to himself. _Perverted bastard_.

“The whole point of alone time is that you're supposed to be alone. _No one_ 's supposed to know about it,” Dean growled.

Impala casually shrugged. He didn't seem to care about Dean's obvious discomfort at having his privacy so suddenly and openly violated.

Dean fiddled with his jacket, straightening it for no reason. This is definitely not what he wanted to talk about with _any_ one, especially not with a dude or his car. The Winchester took a deep breath and exhaled loudly. “Not that it's your fault,” he conceded. “I just didn't expect my car to remember any of that stuff.”

Impala let out a soft laugh. “You just can't catch a break, can you?”

He smiled. It seemed right that Impala would understand how Dean was feeling. He always felt most comfortable venting alone in his car than talking to someone, (not like he wrote in a Diary either. That was something his girly brother would do). It felt a lot like talking with Sam. His little brother, although he was always bugging him to share his feelings, was usually pretty good at gauging his moods and thoughts.

“At least you're in one piece.” He didn't say how devastated he'd be if the Impala was shred to pieces, human or not (though if he were still a car at that point, Dean could just put him back together. He'd done it before, he'd do it again). The Impala had been in the Winchester family since Dean had talked John into buying it back in '67 rather than that Volkswagen. Hunting in a hippie van just wouldn't have been the same. And the Impala always felt more than just a vehicle, something to bring them from point A to point B. Even when they moved around constantly from cheap motel to cheap motel, they always had the Impala. It was the one constant Dean can remember having. He wasn't about to share those sissy, gushy sentiments though.

“Also, you seem like a cool guy,” Dean continued. “I mean, what guy doesn't want to hang out with his car? Though honestly I always pictured you as a chick. A really hot, busty chick.”

“Yeah, I know. Sorry to disappoint.”

“Hey – no. Don't apologize. Not like you can help it. You're still pretty badass despite not having an awesome rack.”

Impala practically glowed from the compliment. “That means a lot coming from you.”

Another ten minutes of walking through the main streets of town and they were at the motel. Entering the eye sore that was their room, they dumped their bags at the foot of a bed. Dean went to the mini fridge and pulled out two beers, handing one to Impala before settling down on his bed.

Dean took out his keys and popped off the top of his bottle. “So what's the last thing you remember as a car?” he asked before taking a drink.

“Not much,” he answered, his elbows jutting out as he tried to twist off the beer cap. Dean held out his hand and Impala handed the beer back. He rubbed at his red and raw palm with his thumb. “Just sitting in the diner parking lot.”

Dean popped the top and handed the bottle back to Impala. “That's it? No one was around?”

“No one. Not that I know of, at least.” Impala frowned, staring down at the beer in his hands.

The hunter's forehead crinkled, his eyebrows drawn together. “What about when you came to as a dude?”

“I was just sitting there, in the parking space, with all the stuff piled under me. Not a soul in sight.” He gestured vaguely with his hands and took a sip of his beer. Dean almost laughed at the look on his face. This would be the first time the Impala's tasted anything, let alone beer which was an acquired taste to begin with.

“Freaking weird.” He wasn't sure if that meant whatever did this didn't have to be close to perform whatever weird spell, or if the little bastard was just good at hiding. He'd have to go back to the diner later with Sam and see if they could get any clues.

The Impala sat down on the bed next to Dean, close enough that their thighs were touching.

“Dude, personal space.” The last thing he needed, or wanted, was some supernatural creature-in-a-meat-suit incapable of understanding social cues and standing in his space all the time. At least at this point he'd trained Cas to back off with a single look.

“We never had any before,” he replied with a shrug.

“You were a _car_.” Impala didn't seem to be getting his point. “An _inanimate object_. I sat on you and _drove_ you.”

“Wouldn't it be funny if _I_ were to sit on _you_.”

“Dude, are you flirting with me? You of all people should have realized at this point that I don't swing that way.”

Impala ignored him. “Must be strange, being the prey for once.” Before Dean could say another word, Impala hopped onto his lap, straddling his thighs.

Dean's face felt like a furnace. “I really don't think this is appropriate,” he choked out, his voice suddenly rough, his throat closing up.

“I'm not some random stranger, Dean.”

“That's kind of the point,” he muttered.

“I know you. I know what you like.” Holding Dean's head to the side to expose his neck, the Impala bit and sucked at the skin there enthusiastically. Dean tried, but couldn't stop the deep throated moan that escaped his lips.

“Jesus, would you just stop!” The hunter tried to pull away, but the Impala had a strong grip. _Shit_. “Dude, I'm flattered, but I meant it when I said I'm not into dudes.”

Impala ignored Dean's protest, and continued to playfully nip at the sensitive skin. “It has nothing to do with me being a guy,” he said between kisses.

“I'm telling you-” His face was now the brightest shade of pink he thought possible. What was with this guy? He apparently doesn't understand that no means no. Dean tried hard not to think about what he felt pressing up against his thigh.

“I know for a fact you don't care.” Impala was now working his way up his neck and along his jaw.

“Don't pretend like you know-” He cut off when the Impala interrupted him. _When did he get his hands up my shirt_? This was getting way out of hand _way_ too quickly.

“I know who's name is on your lips when you think you're alone – when you're close to-”

“Hey! That's _my_ private time!” He pulled himself back as far as he could, which wasn't much, but it was enough to get the guy's mouth off his earlobe. The man still had a death grip around his thighs. How the hell could a car have this much muscle?

The Impala stopped the attacks with his mouth for the first time since he'd climbed onto Dean's lap. “It's not that I'm a man that bugs you – I'm just not the right one. I'm not -”

“Cas!”

The all too familiar flapping sound announced the angel before Dean could even see his trench coat. The hunter's eyes widened at the other man's sudden appearance.

“Dean, Sam said you guys-” Castiel cut off as he took in the scene.

The Impala tsk'd at being interrupted, while Dean was silently thanking the socially awkward angel-man.

“I'll come back later,” Castiel announced to the room, refusing to look at Dean.

“No – wait! Cas!”

“Don't let the door hit you on the way out,” Impala snapped.

“Cas, don't leave! Dude get _off_ me.” He tried, unsuccessfully, to push Impala out of his lap.

Cas kept his head down and headed to the door. Before he reached it though, Sam stepped through.

“Good, you're here,” he said to Cas.

Looking at Dean and the Impala, his face changed to wide-eyed shocked with a twinge of disgust. It was nice that he could always rely on Sam's bitch faces, but he was definitely not in the mood for it.

“Ewgh, _Dean!_ I _was_ joking!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ehehehehe. I get way too much enjoyment out of this. Poor socially awkward Cas. He's my favorite.


	3. Golden Eyes (Not To Be Confused With Ol' Yellow Eyes)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam and Cas go out to research and question people, while Dean is stuck on babysitting duty.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it's been so long since I've updated. I'm a horrible person. T_T As apology, I made this chapter longer than the previous ones at a bit over 3k. Enjoy.

“Dude, we weren't. I wasn't.” Dean gave an exasperated sigh. “Would you _please_ get off me now?”

Finally, the older man obliged. Dean picked up his beer and walked outside, fuming, waiting just outside the door for Sam and Cas to follow him.

“Really, Dean? Your _car_?” Sam asked once the motel room door was shut.

“ _He_ attacked _me_. He has a fucking strong grip. This is _not_ how my night was supposed to go,” Dean whined, rubbing a hand over his forehead.

“I don't understand what's going on. Who is he,” Cas asked, directing his confused expression at Sam, still refusing to look at Dean.

“The guy in there,” Sam gestured to the room, “it's the Impala.”

“Oh. I know how precious your car was to you Dean, but I don't think you should be-”

“Come on! For the last time, _he_ attacked _me_! I'm the victim!” the hunter shouted, pointing emphatically at himself. Why the hell didn't anyone believe him?

“Okay, you're the victim. So besides holding you down and whispering dirty nothings into your ear-” That earned Sam a dead arm. “Did he say anything about what happened to him,” he finished asking, rubbing his arm.

“He doesn't remember anything,” Dean admitted.

“So...where do we go from here?”

“We figure out what has the juice to do something like this, we find it and we gank it.”

Sam turned to Castiel, “Could an arc angel do this?”

“They would be capable, but I don't think that's the case here,” the angel answered.

“What another trickster/angel, then? Like Gabriel?” Dean offered.

Cas shakes his head. “I don't think so, Dean.”

“You notice his eyes?” Sam asked.

“What? No,” Dean admitted.

“They looked gold for a second before he whited out.”

“What do we know has gold eyes?”

Sam shrugged and Dean turned to Cas. “Any ideas?”

“You two are more knowledgeable about monsters than I am,” the angel confessed, “but I will assist in whichever way I can.”

“Thanks Cas,” Sam said sincerely.

“Right. Thanks.” Dean's voice was laced in sarcasm, as always. Sam gave him bitch face #37, the Stop-Being-A-Dick-When-You-Know-You're-Actually-Grateful.

“So,” Cas started, looking determined, “where do we start?”

Dean let out a heavy sigh. “Everywhere.”

“What do we know so far?” Cas asked, turning to Sam.

“Well, there's the one lady who was torn to pieces by a shark – in the pool in her backyard. And then there's the guy who's heart was frozen solid. We couldn't find anything to tie the two together, so far as we know the killings are random.”

Castiel squinted, taking in the information. “This does seem to be a very interesting case. Perhaps we have two perpetrators?”

“Maybe, but it's unlikely. There's a better chance that it's just something we've never faced before. I'll start looking at local lore. Cas, you can come with me while Dean stays with the Impala.”

“Dude, I'm not babysitting a grown man,” Dean said at the same time Cas blurted out, “I don't think Dean should be alone with him.”

“Dean can take care of himself, Cas. And Dean. Someone needs to watch him in case something happens or the thing comes back. Before you say, 'why me' – we both know you're more likely to zone out or give up on research.”

“The hell, man? I pull my weight when it comes to research,” Dean argued, a little hurt but schooling his face to hide it.

“Okay, okay. Sorry,” Sam apologized, putting up his hands in supplication.

“Well, what do I do with the Impala in the mean time?” Dean asked.

“Feed him?” Sam offered with eyebrows raised, shrugging.

“Long as he stays off me,” Dean growled.

Sam snorted, earning him a threatening glare from his older brother. “Shut up,” Dean demanded, pointing his finger at the big moose.

“Hey, it shouldn't be that bad. You guys seem to have some great chemistry.”

Dean threw death glares at his little brother, obviously not finding his continuous little comments funny. “I hate you,” he growled.

“Aw,” Sam said, mocking, “I wuv you too, big bruder. I accept your life choices. If you want to be with your car, I won't stop you.” Sam put out his arms, offering a hug.

“Bitch,” Dean replied, turning to leave.

“Jerk,” Sam replied, a smile tugging at his lips.

 

* * *

 

The library was dark and empty. It was somewhere around 10PM and the library had closed hours ago. Castiel and Sam were sitting at a table in the middle of the main room, books piled up all around them and just the one desk lamp flipped on. Sam had dealt with worse lighting, but his eyes were already starting to strain, giving him a dull headache. Frustrated after three hours of searching through books almost at random, Sam called Dean to check in.

“How're you two love-birds doing? Enjoying your alone time?” Sam asked when Dean picked up.

Dean ignored the quip. “We're watching Die Hard.”

“How romantic.”

“You're an ass. Did you just call to make more bad jokes, because I'll hang up.”

“We're getting nowhere with this research.”

“Thanks for the update.” Sam could hear Dean roll his eyes.

“We don't have enough to go on, so I was thinking of taking Cas to go talk to Rachel again in the morning.”

“She the hot sister of the Jaws chick?”

“Uh, yeah. That's the one.”

“Alright. Watch out for Cas – he's pretty bad at the whole people thing. You guys coming back here now?”

“Yeah, might as well get some sleep before we go out in the morning. And yeah, I know about Cas' people skills. Want me to send him your love?” Cas' eyebrows draw down as he looks at Sam in confusion.

“Screw you,” Dean retorted, hanging up.

Sam laughed as he put his phone away.

“Why do you keep antagonizing Dean?” Cas asked him, concerned.

Sam shrugged. “It's what brothers do, I guess. Also, this is a once in a lifetime opportunity. For once, Dean is in a situation I find hilarious, while he think it's...”

“Morose? Sardonic? Degrading?”

Sam laughed a little. “I was going to say virulent or malicious, but yeah.”

“I can see the appeal, of teasing I mean, but I don't trust that man.”

“The Impala?” Cas nodded. “He's harmless...I think. Unless he actually manages to rape Dean.”

Cas' eyes went wide in horror, probably about to fly off to save Dean.

Sam grabbed the angel's arm before he could disappear. “Whoa, Cas. I was joking. Dean'll be fine – he can handle it.”

Cas relaxed, but his facial expression hinted that he didn't fully believe Sam.

 

Popping back into their motel room a few minutes later, Sam almost fell over from disorientation. Going from one place to another via what Dean called “angel mojo”, was not his favorite mode of transportation.

“Next time we stop for supplies, we'll get you an enema,” his older brother said with a smile, clapping him on the shoulder. Sam grimaced. He'd forgotten about that little side effect.

“Time for some shut-eye,” Dean announced, turning off the TV.

It didn't surprise Sam that at the first mention of sleep, the Impala insisted on sharing Dean's bed. “It isn't that strange. We've slept together a lot over the years,” the Impala said with a wink at Dean.

Dean was more than mildly freaked out by the other guy's advances. “Man, cut it out! Like hell I'm letting you sleep in my bed. You get the couch, now stop complaining.”

“Oh come on, won't you be cold all alone in that big bed all by yourself?” Impala pressed.

The older hunter clenched his fists by his sides. Sam knew that look on his face. He was about to clock the Impala. Before Sam could move to get between them, Cas rested his hand on Dean's shoulder, effectively holding Dean back. His brother turned to share one of those long looks he tends to have with the angel. Whatever passed between the two of them, it worked. Dean relaxed, falling back to sit on the edge of his bed.

Impala seemed to catch the mood and quickly amended, “I'll go catch a shower.”

Dean barely nodded. “You can use some of my old clothes.”

The Impala smirked, “Thanks, Dean.” He grabbed the clothes Dean handed him after digging around in his duffel a bit, then headed to the bathroom.

When they could hear the water running in the shower, Cas broke the silence. “I'll watch him to make sure he doesn't “try” anything while you two are asleep.”

Sam knew Dean didn't like the idea of the angel watching him sleep, but he seemed to like the prospect of the Impala crawling into his bed in the night much, much less. “Sure, Cas,” Dean said with a sigh, falling back onto his bed with a loud thud.

 

Guarded by an angel, Dean was left unmolested throughout the night, for which Sam was eternally grateful. If Dean hadn't taken Castiel's offer, Sam would've told the angel to watch the Impala anyways. He wouldn't have been able to sleep with the Impala and Dean having a fist fight in the middle of the night.

It was mid morning, Sam had slept pretty good, relative to his past sleeping habits, and the sun was shining. Cas and him were standing just outside Rachel's house, the woman who's sister was chewed up by a nonexistent shark in her swimming pool.

Rachel's house is a decent looking two story, the siding painted a soft blue with white trimmed shutters around the windows, a quaint front garden filled with flowers and bushes surrounded by a white picketed fence. Very apple-pie, if you asked Sam. A dog barked from inside when Sam knocked.

Rachel answered the door, looking at the two suited men in surprise. “Agent Johnson? What – what're you doing here? I already answered all your questions.” The soft brown curls resting on her shoulders shifted as she shook her head in confusion.

“Hi Rachel. This is my coworker, Agent Fouller,” Sam told her, his face gentle and sympathizing.

“We have more questions concerning your sister's death,” Cas said, answering her question in his deep, abrupt tone of voice.

Sam smiled a bit awkwardly at the woman. “May we come in?”

Rachel stepped aside, opening the door to let them inside. “My husband's out with the kids at the park. I needed a little break from the chaos,” she told them, leading them to her living room and motioning for them to sit. “Can I get you anything? I just made a pot of tea.”

“Tea would be great,” the hunter replied. Even though Cas hadn't asked for any, Rachel came back with a cup of tea for each of them. Cas stared at his cup curiously, before cautiously putting it to his lips and taking a sip.

“How is it?” Rachel asked them.

“Good, thank you,” Sam answered automatically.

“It is adequate,” Cas told her. Sam wondered if he should have told Cas to keep quiet after all. He'd decided against it since it might seem weird if he didn't talk, but now he was definitely having second thoughts.

Rachel looked at the angel with her eyebrows drawn together.

“So, how're your children taking it?” the hunter asked.

The woman picked up her own cup of tea, but didn't drink from it. “They're alright. Honestly, they never really got along with my sister. She was never the best with children.”

“How did your sister get along with adults?”

Rachel sighed. “Not much better. Heather was the type who used whatever she could to manipulate people. I hate talking about her like that after what happened to her, but it's the truth.”

“Did she have many enemies?” Castiel asked her.

The grieving woman's brown eyes stared blankly down at the cup in her hands. “She wasn't very popular, but enemies? I don't know if you could go so far as to call them that. She had a way of charming people to smooth over arguments.”

“Was Heather acting, strange,” Sam asked, gesturing vaguely, “before her death? Was she any different from usual?”

“No, not really,” she answered, looking up at Sam. Her eyes were so blank, so lost, Sam couldn't help empathizing. He knew the feeling of losing a loved one all too well.

“Did you know of anyone new in her life?”

“Well, yeah actually,” Rachel admitted, nodding slightly. “There was this one guy. She said she met him at a bar. They went out on a date the weekend before she died.”

“Which bar was that?”

“The buffalo wing place down Western Avenue.”

“And what was this guy like?”

Rachel let out a sudden breath of air. “Her usual type. Very smug, very cocky. Kind of an asshole, really. Though, something about him was weird...”

“Weird how?” Cas asked her. Sam was a bit impressed with Cas at this point. Gruff and abrupt as he might be, at least he wasn't outright accusing her of murdering her sister.

“His eyes, they were – well I don't know, I think it was just a trick of the light.”

“What about his eyes?” Sam pressed.

Rachel fiddled with her cup, turning it around and around in her hands. “Well, they looked kind of...gold. But like I said, it was just the lighting.”

“Right. Of course.”

Rachel let out a deep sigh. “It's kind of ironic – how my sister died. A few months ago my husband had won a free vacation to Hawaii, but we weren't able to go so we offered it to my sister. She turned it down though. Said she didn't even want to be close to the water. She's terrified of sharks.” A few tears ran down her cheeks, prompting Sam to hand her the tissue box sitting on the table in front of them.

 

With the interview over, Sam was on the phone with Dean, telling him what they'd learned while standing out on the sidewalk in front of Rachel's house.

“You think the guy from the bar is the thing we're looking for?” Dean asked.

“Sounds like it. Rachel did say she thought he had gold eyes for a second. I don't think it was a trick of the light. Also, she said that Heather was _terrified_ of sharks. Wouldn't even take a free trip to Hawaii because of it.”

“Ha, ironic,” Dean laughed.

“Yeah. Tell me about it. So we're going to go talk to some of those teens who were arrested for trespassing and see what we can scare out of them.”

“The kids who were doing that weird 'satanic' ritual?”

“Yup.”

“How'd Cas do?”

“Well, he didn't scream at anyone, so better than usual.”

Sam thought he could hear his brother's pride in the angel over the phone. “Good luck with the brats,” Dean said just before hanging up.

The hunter let out a breath. “Well,” he said to Cas, putting his phone away, “let's go then.”

 

* * *

Dean was lounging on his bed, rifling through his dad's journal, hoping against everything that there would be something, _anything_ , in there that could help them out. All they had so far was a few weird, impossible deaths, and some guy from a bar. Oh, and let's not forget, a car turning into a guy. Definitely not enough to find out what it was they were facing, let alone how to kill it. Nothing seemed to tie these events together. What the hell was this thing, and why the hell would it turn his Impala human? What purpose did that serve? Was the Impala going to suddenly change attitude and stab Dean in the back?

He sat there, going over everything they knew, when he got another call from Sam.

“Sammy? Again? Never noticed how much you boys call each other,” Impala observed.

Dean ignored him, rolling his eyes as he answered his cell.

“What'dya got Sam?” Dean said, flipping his phone open.

Sam sighed over the phone. “Turns out the ritual was a fake. The blood was fake, the bones made of plaster and rubber, even the words. Fake.”

“Well, shit. If they didn't summon this guy, then why the hell is he here now?” Dean pinched the bridge of his nose, frustrated at all the dead ends this case kept taking them to.

“Hell if I know, Dean. But they did mention seeing the guy with golden eyes. Said he was lurking around their street a week ago,” Sam told him, his voice breaking up a little with static.

“Well what do we do now?”

“I say we call Garth. He has a good collection of books and -”

Dean cut him off, “No. _Hell_ no. I'm not calling Garth.”

“Oh come on, Dean,” Sam exasperates. “He might know something.”

“Do we have to?” Dean whines.

“Just call him. Stop being such a girl.”

Dean glared, even though he knew Sam couldn't see him. “You coming back now, then?” he growled.

“Yeah, meet you back at the motel.” Sam said, his last word echoing as it came from right behind Dean.

The hunter whirled around to see Sam and Cas standing there in their motel, Sam blinking rapidly. “Come on, Cas. Give a guy a little warning before you do that.”

“Sorry, Sam,” Cas apologized, looking thoroughly awkward as he stared down at his shoes. Dean smiled to himself at the sight.

 

“What're ya idjits into this time?” Garth said in greeting over the phone.

“Lose the accent Garth,” Dean told him, already annoyed with the guy.

“Alright, Dean. No need to get snippy,” Garth said, his voice returning to normal. “What'dya need?”

“We're chasing this thing, but we can't figure out what it is.”

“And if you don't know what it is, you can't gank it. Got it. Give me the deet's.”

“Deet's?” Dean asked, eyebrows shooting up.

“Yeah, details.”

“Dude-” Dean started, but a bitch face from Sam stopped him short. Letting out a deep breath, the hunter explained everything they knew so far.

“Sounds like a trickster to me,” Garth tells him when Dean's done.

“A trickster? But Gabriel's dead.”

“Gabriel wasn't really a trickster, idjit. He was an angel. I'm talking about an actual trickster.”

“You call me an idjit one more time and I'll drive over there just to put my fist in your face.”

The hunter could hear Garth swallow over the line. He continued his explanation in a more humble tone, “There's tons of them. Basically every religion has at least one.”

“So which trickster is the one we're dealing with?”

“I don't know, man,” Garth admitted. “Take your pick.”

“The hell, Garth. Come on. That's all you can give us?” Dean knew calling the geek was a big waste of time. The guy was useless.

“Hold your horses, Dean. We just need to narrow it down. Shouldn't be too hard.”

“Yeah, says you,” Dean muttered.

“Get some local info on what's been going on around there,” Garth continued. “Look for any stories that sound ironic, that's their MO. Also, look at any strange animal behavior in the area. Most tricksters' natural form is of a common animal.”

“And if we can figure that out, we'll know which trickster it is?”

“Yup. That easy.”

“Alright,” Dean said, about to hang up when Sam threw another bitch face at him. He let out a sigh before adding, “thanks, Garth,” in breathy resignation.

“You're welcome, Dean! It's always good to hear from you guys. We should get together sometime, it's been too long,” Garth rambled.

Dean rolled his eyes. “Yeah. Right.”

“Soon.”

“Uh-huh. See ya, Garth.”

“Bye!” Garth said cheerily, just before Dean shut his phone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> With the tides turned, Sam seems to adopt Dean's sass. Also, Cas is starting to feel territorial about his Dean. HIS DEAN. BETTER BACK UP IMPALA.
> 
> I want to thank my AWESOME and very WONDERFUL beta reader, tuppa_warah. She makes me bettar. Oh. And the next chapter is going to be at least 4k, so be happy.
> 
> Edit: I'm looking for another beta reader (mostly so I don't abuse my friend). It'd be nice to have two so I don't have to rely on just the one for proof-reading and such. Let me know if you're interested.


	4. Good Old-Fashioned Stakeout

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam does some more research to find out what the monster is, Dean is forced to open up with Impala a bit, and Cas goes with Impala to the store (and he's not especially happy).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A longer chapter, like I promised! Hope you like it...

Sam sat down and set to work, opening his laptop and searching for any local information that  could help them narrow down the search.

Instead of offering to help, Dean went to their mini fridge. It was empty except for two ketchup packets. “Well, while you do that, I'll go get us some grub.”

“The closest _anything_ is five miles from here, Dean,” Sam told his brother. The older Winchester shifted his eyes, looking up in thought. “We don't have a car.”

“Shit." Dean looked at the Impala sitting on one of the beds. “I forgot.”

“I can get food supplies,” Castiel offered.

“I'm not in the mood for angel airlines,” Dean told him.

Castiel rolled his eyes. “I am fully capable of going by myself.”

Impala stood up and intervened. “I'll go with the angel.” The older man ignored Castiel's pointed glare. “I think I'm a bit better at human interaction at this point,” Impala said smugly. He didn't seem to notice, or care, about offending the multidimensional wavelength of celestial intent. _Ass_ , Castiel thought. “Also, I think I know what they'd want.”

“He has a point,” Dean conceded. Before the two could take off, Dean handed Castiel some cash, staring into Castiel's eyes. “Thanks, Cas.” The angel smiled at the corner of his lips at Dean's sincerity before turning to the Impala with a frown.

They arrived at a grocery store seconds later. Ignoring the human vehicle, Castiel set to work, quickly grabbing a basket and moving about the store with purpose. He loaded up the basket with a 6-pack, a pre-made salad (for Sam), and sandwich materials.

“What's with the lunch meat?” Impala asked.

Annoyed, Castiel replied, “Dean shouldn't live off burgers – and I've become quite proficient at sandwich making.”

“Really?” Impala asked skeptically.

“Dean liked the last sandwich I made for him. Where do they keep the pie?”

“In the bakery, I'd imagine.” Castiel rolled his eyes at Impala and they headed to the bakery. After perusing the pies for several minutes, Impala growing more and more impatient, the angel picked out an apple pie with a sugar glazed criss-cross crust.

While they were waiting to pay at the checkout line, Impala decided to “open up” and fill the silence with useless chatter.

“I know why you're so hostile towards me.”

Castiel sighed. Conversation was not his favorite thing to do, especially with potential threats. It didn't help that he wasn't very good at it, either. “I don't know what you're referring to.”

“It's because you're jealous,” the Impala said, continuing as if Castiel hadn't just admitted ignorance of the topic. “You know how much Dean loves me and you're jealous.”

“I'm not jealous of a primitive mode of transportation.” (Yes he was.) Castiel's patience with the man was definitely wearing thin. Besides, the angel had nothing to worry about. The Impala was Dean's car, even in his temporary humanoid form. Soon he'd be back to an inanimate object, and no longer eying Dean like the hunter was his lover.

Impala ignored the insult and gave their cashier a confident smile as she rang up their items.

Watching the Impala, the angel wondered why the temporary human should think he was jealous. Castiel had a more profound bond with Dean than the piece of scrap metal ever could. The angel had nothing to be jealous over, even if the Impala had a brief physically intimate moment with Dean. Impala didn't have a spiritual attachment with Dean, like Castiel did. (He would've liked to add physical intimacy to that, though.) The angel sighed.

Noticing a newspaper at the checkout stand, the angel grabbed it, knowing how the brothers liked to check local news for new occurrences that might relate to their case.

They returned to the motel, not having been gone long. It was apparently long enough for the Air Conditioning unit in the entire building to break, though. Dean had shed several layers of shirts, now only wearing one, and stood in his socks, his boots lying on top of one another at the foot of his bed. The taller Winchester was wearing a thin, sleeveless shirt and shorts. Castiel wondered why Dean wasn't also in shorts. Thinking back on it, the angel couldn't remember ever seeing the hunter in anything other than jeans.

Having just returned, Dean hopped up from off the couch to go through the grocery bags they'd set on the table. The hunter eyed the lunch meat and bread with a confused look.

“I thought I could make some sandwiches,” Castiel said, answering Dean's unspoken question.

“Would've been okay with some burgers, but thanks Cas,” Dean said, patting the angel affectionately on the shoulder. Sam thanked him too, with a little more enthusiasm – most likely because he actually enjoyed healthier foods, unlike his older brother. Finding the pie at the bottom of the bag, Dean turned and shot a huge grin at the Impala. Castiel didn't bother to tell him that he was the one who had bought it, not the Winchester's car. In fact, the angel had done all the shopping. He shrugged it off. It was a trivial thing, one more deed to add to the list of things Dean didn't know. Recognition for buying pie wasn't going to gain him the hunter's love. Not that that's what he was trying to do. (It would have, but Castiel didn't know that.)

Two hours later and Dean was passed out on the couch (not actually passed out, since he'd only had 1 beer). He'd fallen asleep watching Doctor Sexy MD reruns. Impala lounged on Dean's bed, reading one of Sam's books, while Sam continued researching.

Castiel had sat down on the other end of the couch from Dean, deciding to watch the TV show with him. Even with the hunter soundly asleep, the angel continued watching. He found the complicated, interlacing relationships of the characters to be fascinating. _This must be why Dean is so in love with it,_ the angel reasoned.

Dean made a soft noise in his sleep and shifted, drawing Castiel's attention away from the TV as the hunter slid his bare feet onto Castiel's lap.

The angel's eyebrows furrowed, wrinkling his forehead as he looked down at his lap, then over at Dean's sleeping face. Idly, he wonders if Dean is doing this on purpose as a way of teasing Castiel, or if he really does have little to no control over his body while he sleeps. Seeing as how angels don't sleep, Castiel was unfamiliar with the action.

Ignoring the television, Castiel instead elected to study Dean's feet. He rarely was given the opportunity to openly watch the hunter at such a short distance. Being physically close apparently violated Dean's “personal space” code.

“Yes!” Sam suddenly exclaimed, causing the angel to look up in alarm. “I've figured it out.” The Winchester looked up and noticed his brother's position. “Wow, he really is passed out. I don't think he's slept that deeply in years. Anyways, we need to wake him.” Castiel was about to reach out and shake Dean's shoulder when Sam stopped him. “Wait. Don't wake him up like that – tickle his feet.”

Castiel squinted at the younger hunter. “Tickle? I don't – how do you...”

“Just lightly touch his feet, maybe wiggle your fingers a bit,” Sam told him, wiggling his fingers in the air in demonstration.

Unsure and nervous, Castiel did as instructed. At first, Dean's feet twitched, shaking in the angel's lap. Castiel was convinced he was doing it wrong, but Sam smiled and told him to continue. So he did. The hunter's foot twitched more violently, and suddenly Dean was falling off the couch with a loud thud. Impala and Sam burst out laughing, (Castiel had forgotten he wasn't alone with the brothers). Pleased at their reactions, the angel smiled openly.

“What the hell!” Dean growled. Castiel's smile slipped. Dean did not look very happy.

“Dude, why're you barefoot? You're never barefoot – I swear you come out of the shower in boots,” Sam said, ignoring his older brother's glares.

“How're you supposed to-” Dean turned that glare to Castiel and he stopped mid-sentence, realizing Sam was joking.

“My feet were sweating – shut up it's hot,” the Winchester added when Sam started laughing again. Dean stood up and noticed the Impala sitting there shirtless. “Dude, it's not _that_ hot – put your shirt on.”

Impala rolled his eyes, but complied.

“He told you to do it, didn't he?” Dean asked the angel, gesturing at his little brother.

Castiel didn't answer, turning his head away to look at anything but Dean's face. “They were on my lap,” he says after a moment, “your feet.”

“Oh.”

Dean didn't sound particularly angry – _do humans always change emotion so fast_? Castiel quickly turned back to look at Dean's face, to see his facial expression. The hunter was blushing. The angel supposed he was embarrassed. Perhaps he couldn't control his limbs while in deep sleep after all. “Why don't you wear shorts?”

The hunter flinched. “What?”

“If you're so hot, why don't you wear shorts like your brother? I've never seen you wearing shorts.”

“Yeah, Dean. Why don't you put on some shorts. I know you kept those red gym shorts,” Sam said, his eyebrows rising and falling, implying something Castiel couldn't fathom.

“The fuck you wake me for?”

“Oo, testy are we? I thought naps are supposed to make kids happier when they wake up.”

Dean didn't answer. Ignoring his brother completely, he shuffled over to the fridge, grabbed a bottled water, and collapsed into the chair opposite Sam. Castiel was surprised at the water. It used to always be a beer, (or something stronger), in the hunter's hands, regardless of the hour.

“So I found a few more weird stuff that happened within the last two weeks.”

“Our kind of weird?”

“That or it's just karma. This guy, Richard Tourmonte, his wife committed suicide a few weeks ago.”

“Not following, Sammy. How is that weird?”

“It's not. What's weird is that Mr. Tourmonte has tried to kill himself four times since then, all of his attempts failing.”

“Down the road, not across the street.”

“I don't think he's falling from an eight story building wrong, Dean. Landing without so much as a scratch.”

“Okay, that's a bit weird, I'll give you that. Sometimes shit like that happens, though.”

“How about Victor Browning getting hit by a drunk driver, killing him instantly, the day after he's released from prison for serving a twelve year sentence for vehicular manslaughter while under the influence. It's too much a coincidence that we're looking for a trickster and all these ironic 'life's lessons' things are happening around town.”

“I don't know, Sammy,” Dean said, skeptically. Castiel wondered why the hunter was so stubborn – refusing to believe his brother that these events were linked.

“I have more, if you still need convincing.”

Dean let out a drawn out sigh. “Fine,” he whined. “So, all that tells us is that we were right to think it's a trickster. We still have no idea which one, so we still can't gank the bastard.”

“Right, but there's other clues. I looked up recent animal activity. Seems like there's five times the amount of coyote sightings.”

“Coyotes aren't new. Maybe people are just noticing them more.”

“The wildlife preservation organization estimated a 400% population increase. In a twenty mile radius.”

“So we're looking for a coyote trickster?”

“Not _a_ coyote, _the_ Coyote. The Coyote is a mythological character,” Sam said, reading off the description from his laptop, “common to many Native American cultures, based on the _Canis Latrans_ animal. This creature is usually male and is generally anthropomorphic, although he may have some coyote-like physical features such as fur, pointed ears, a tail, claws, and/or _golden_ eyes.”

“Great,” Dean said, perking up. “It say there how we kill the thing?”

“Nope,” Sam told him, popping the “p” as he continued looking over the computer screen.

“Damnit. Of course not.”

“But we can just call Garth back.”

Dean let out another drawn out sigh, his shoulders slumping forward. He seemed to be doing that a lot since he'd woken up from his nap. Castiel wondered if he could help relieve some of the tension in the hunter's shoulders like he'd seen the Impala do earlier that day. Dean had seemed to enjoy it after his initial annoyance at Impala touching him, despite Sam's teasing.

The older Winchester was making no move to call their friend, so Sam reached into his own pocket and flipped open his phone, all the while making a face at his brother. Dean rolled his eyes in response, sipping from his water bottle. Castiel smiled at the exchange.

Sam went through his phone until he found Garth's number and called the hunter. After a fair amount of greeting, Sam finally explained what they'd found. Castiel didn't understand why so much was needed to be said before they could talk about what was really important. Why not just get right to the relevant information? The brothers seemed to understand that, answering the phone with information they've gained rather than “making small talk”.

Garth agreed with them that it sounded like the Coyote trickster, and proceeded to give Sam a list of materials needed for the weapon to kill it.  

“I'm not so sure, either,” Sam admitted over the phone. Castiel didn't know what he was talking about. “But I don't think the alternative is going to fly with Dean.”

After Sam hung up, Dean immediately asked him, “What is it you think we can't do?”

“I don't think we have the manpower to go up against something this strong,” the younger Winchester tells him.

“What other choice do we have?”

Sam shrugged. “Well, we could reason with it.”

Dean stared him down. “No way in hell, man. We're going to find him and ice him.”

The hunter and Impala watched the bar their trickster was apparently known to frequent, from across the street. They were sitting in a pathetic Buick that Dean rented with one of his many aliases. He would've just stolen one, except they didn't know how much longer they'd be in the area and didn't need the extra drama of being arrested for grand theft auto. The '91 LeSabre smelled like old man. Dean sighed deeply.

“Sorry I'm not a car right now,” the Impala told him. The hunter wasn't sure if he liked the fact that his car seemed to sense his mood and thoughts.

Dean shrugged. “It's fine. Not your fault.”

“True, but that doesn't make it fine. This car smells like old cologne and Bengay.” Impala smiled as Dean let out a laugh. Changing the subject to the matter at hand, he said, “So this is the part where we stake out the bar for our monster while Sam and the angel gather what we need to gank it?”

“Yup.”

“And what do we do while we wait? It could be hours before the thing shows up.”

The hunter just stared blankly out the window, keeping his eyes on the bar entrance. “Yup,” he said in a flat tone. Stakeouts were definitely not his favorite part of a job.

“So we just sit here?”

“Uh, yeah.”

“Boring,” Impala said with a playful tone. “Let's talk while we wait.”

Dean shrugged, peering out at the street - scanning for anyone out of place. “What's there to talk about?” His car wouldn't know anything about sports or movies, though Dean supposed he would know  about some pop culture – mostly music. Having someone to talk with about his favorite artists wouldn't be so bad for a change. Sam hardly knew good music when it hit him in the face.

The Impala thinks for a few moments before responding with, “What are your feelings about the angel?”

 _Not this again_ , Dean thought. All his hopes of having a decent conversation with someone equally awesome were thrown out the window. “You should know me well enough to know I don't do mushy, feelings crap.”

“You're right. I do know you. I know that whenever you were frustrated and couldn't talk to anyone, you'd talk to _me_.”

“Yeah well, plenty of people talk to themselves when they need to sort through their thoughts.”

“You weren't just talking to yourself, you'd talk to me.”

“Might as well have been alone.” He knew it was harsh, but he didn't care. Why should he have?

Impala was unphased. The guy was tougher than Dean might've thought with his urge to get the hunter to talk about feelings. He was as bad as Sam. “Suddenly you can't open up to me? Come on, Dean. I know you better than anyone. Better than Sam, even. Only difference is now I can answer back.”

Dean turned to look Impala in the eye. “You aren't going to leave this alone, are you?”

“Nope,” the Impala said, shaking his head with a casual shrug and raise of the eyebrow. “I'll be back to a 'what' and not a 'who' by tomorrow, anyways.”

“Why do you want me to talk about Cas?” Everyone seemed to be wrapped up in his relationships. It really was no one's goddamn business. _Well, at least he's not trying to jump my bones_. Right. Silver lining.

“Because you have unspoken, unresolved feelings revolving around him,” Impala said, matter-of-factly, like he was explaining the weather.

“So?”

“So, you should let it off your chest. It'll be one less thing you're holding in.”

“What exactly are you wanting me to say?” Dean snapped, releasing a bit of pent up anger.

“Maybe you could start with admitting you like him,” Impala suggested.

“He's my friend,” Dean replied without thought. After a few moments, he added hesitantly, “I think.”

“You aren't sure?”

Dean couldn't figure out what people expected out of him. “It's hard to trust him again after everything he's done.” What – was he supposed to suddenly confess undying love for the guy who had continually lied to his face?

“That's true. Yet, it sounds like you've forgiven him.”

The hunter sighed heavily, his shoulders slumping as he exhaled. “Trying to, but for the most part..." Dean paused, "Yeah, I think I have forgiven him – God knows why.”

“Because it's Cas.”

Dean didn't answer. What was it about the angel that made him so easy to forgive? Why was Cas an exception?

“You're just hung up on the fact that he's a guy, aren't you?”

“What?”

“That's why you haven't made a move on him.”

The hunter shook his head in annoyance, grimacing. “Make a move? Dude, he's my friend. That's _it_. Getting real tired of people calling him my boyfriend.”

“Why? You guys would make a cute couple.”

“Can you cut the crap?”

“You keep saying you play for the other team, but that doesn't stop your feelings for the angel. Which makes sense, seeing as how angels are 'junkless', as you so often put it. Dean, I know you like the man – in a more than platonic way. I know you fantasize about it.”

“My fantasies are my own,” Dean snapped at the Impala, pissed about his privacy being violated. “I know the difference between fantasy and real life.”

“Meaning you don't think you could ever have him in 'real life'?”

Dean shook his head. “I meant that everyone has fantasies. Doesn't mean they should ever come true. Some people fantasize about some sick stuff.”

“Imagining yourself with the angel, your best friend, is hardly akin to whatever sick stuff other people think up.”

“Might as well be. He's my _best friend_. You're not supposed to think about your friends like that. Besides, he's a guy.”

“You're just scared. Scared of losing him. Which, I find, is hilarious.”

“Excuse me,” Dean asked, anger filling his voice as he clenched his fists. “Everyone I've ever cared about, I've failed to protect. Everyone.”

“He's the one person in your life who is least likely to leave you. How many times has he come back to you now? And why are you so sure he even needs your protection? Let someone take care of _you_ , protect _you_ , for a change. Maybe if you both opened up and trusted each other a little more, you wouldn't have all this drama between you two.”

It hit the hunter hard, knowing that what the Impala said was true. Getting relationship advice from his car was definitely a new all-time low for Dean. He wanted to believe Cas wouldn't leave him, that he'd always come back. But all he could think of were all the times the angel _had_ left. The time that stung the most was when he'd escaped purgatory without Cas. Dean was supposed to help him, protect him, he was supposed to pull him out. But Cas didn't want to be saved. He didn't want to leave with Dean. And that cut the worst. _He didn't want me_. “Yup, alright,” Dean said, clapping a hand on his leg. “Definitely done with this Share-Your-Feelings-Chick-Flick moment.”

With _that_ finally over, they sat in comfortable silence for the better part of an hour. Well, Dean was comfortable with it, but the Impala was starting to get restless. He started tapping his fingers on his leg, and that's when Dean lost it.

“Dude,” Dean said, breaking the silence. “You're like a kid stuck doing errands with his mom.”

“Oops,” Impala said, clasping his hands together. “Sorry, just a bit hungry.”

“There's food in the bag,” Dean told him, using his thumb to point at the backseat.

The Impala reached back, pulling a bag of Lays from the grocery bag. A few moments of Impala eating noisily, Dean reached over, taking a handful of chips. The Impala snorted in annoyance and Dean felt the corners of his mouth tugging into a smile.

It was then, as he was cramming a whole handful of chips into his mouth at once, that he spotted him. With dark hair, a dark complexion, and nice clothes, the guy looked out of place – and he fit the description Rachel and the bratty teens gave them. Bringing up his binoculars, Dean watched as the guy passed some woman leaving the bar, bumping into her. As he turned, Dean saw his eyes flash golden for a split second.

“Got the bastard,” Dean said, grinning broadly.

Twenty minutes of following the thing after it left the bar, the two pulled into the parking lot of an abandoned warehouse the trickster had stepped into. Half the windows were broken, all of them covered in a thick layer of dust and cobwebs. Random bits of debris and trash were scattered around the pot-hole filled parking lot.

“Right. Not suspicious or creepy at all,” Dean observed. He dug out his phone and called one of Sam's phones. “You guys got everything yet?” Dean asked when his brother picked up.

“Yeah, was just about to call. Where are you?”

“At some empty warehouse five miles east of town,” Dean answered. A second later he heard the familiar flap of wings and Sam and Cas were sitting in the backseat of the car. Cas leaned forward, peering at the vacant and rundown building.

“He lives here?” the angel asked.

“Don't know, don't care. He went in about five minutes ago. Where's the thing?”

Sam lifted up two wooden stakes, sharpened and smeared with god-knows-what (Dean had only half paid attention to the shopping list Garth gave them).

“Alright. Let's get this over with,” Dean said, opening the car door and stepping out, eager to be done with the whole mess.

They split up around the huge building to check all the exits/entrances. Dean stayed with the Impala at the door the trickster had entered while Cas angeled off and Sam went to circle around the west end.

Sam came back and shook his head. “No door or anything on the west side.” It was seconds later that Cas returned with the same news.

“This is the only way in or out, it seems,” the angel said.

 _P_ _robably a trap._ Cautiously, Dean opened the door, stake held out and ready while his eyes darted around looking for any sign of movement. It was a large open room with old rusting machinery sitting discarded in one corner. A haphazard pile of wooden palates sat along the wall opposite of the door they entered through. The rest of the hunting party came in behind him, all in alert stances.

“Was wondering when you boys would finally show up,” a voice echoed around the high ceiling. A figure approached them from the shadows under a platform far to their left. “Guessing from your faces,” he continued, “– you're none too happy about my object lesson, are you?” The trickster turned to the Impala. “Except you, of course.”

Dean sighed. _Why am I always right._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I want to thank my new beta, AnJ+Emm, so VERY much for helping me out with this chapter! Also thanks to my bffl siriuslydontblink for taking a quick look at it. I tried to break away from the dialogue-heavy, short chapters and give a little more substance (while still keeping it fun). Let me know what you guys think.
> 
> UPDATE: Sorry I'm a horrible human being and taking months to finish this short fic. In the words of God, "Writing is hard."


	5. James Dean Festival

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What the Impala said to Dean is driving him crazy. And he finally goes to the James Dean Festival. Here comes the schmoop.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's finally finished and I have to give a big thanks to my main beta [Tuppa_warah](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Tuppa_Warah) and also [Siriuslydontblink](http://archiveofourown.org/users/SiriuslyDontBlink).

“Put him back to normal. It's fucking unnatural,” Dean demanded, nostrils flaring.

“Unnatural? You, alive and breathing, is unnatural. How many times have you died and come back?”

“Go to hell,” Dean spat, glaring.

“No thanks. Didn't do either of you much good, did it?” Coyote said nonchalantly, pointing at each of the Winchesters in turn. “I'll pass.”

“Listen, I know you're not a bad guy, right? You're not going around sucking the life force out of people. You're just,” Sam shrugged, arms open, “trying to teach humanity a bit about itself. Anyways, you don't want us dogging you wherever you go. Just put him back and we'll get out of your hair.”

“Sorry, Sammy boy, but this lesson is for your big brother. Can't leave until I feel he's learned it.”

Dean was proud of the sassy bitch face his little brother threw at the monster. “What lesson is that supposed to be? Take better care of your car? Pretty sure Impala agrees that Dean takes pretty damn good care of him.”

Shaking his head, Coyote said, “No, no. You guys are completely off target. This isn't really about the Impala at all. It's about Dean and his relationships.” Coyote turned to look at the angel. “He knows, don't you Castiel?”

Castiel glared at Coyote, refusing to answer the trickster.

“Really now, I'm disappointed in you Winchesters. After hearing so much about you – I thought you'd be smart enough to figure this out right off the bat. Well, I did hear about how emotionally stunted you both are, so I guess I should have anticipated this.” The guy sighed. “Come now, Dean. You can speak openly here – this is a safe place. No one in this room will mock or judge you. Feel free to,” he paused, taking a deep breath in, “open up.”

“Bite me.”

Coyote's eyes flashed red, his teeth bared as he pressed his face close to Dean's. He tried to lunge at the thing in front of him, only to find himself unable to move a muscle. “I'm tempted to,” he growled. “But you'd like that, wouldn't you? To finally be free – finally be at peace.”

“That's bullshit. There's no such thing as peace.” Even when pinned to a wall, he never quite learned when to stop his running mouth.

As the words fell from his mouth, Sam came up behind the Coyote, sharpened stake ready to pierce through the monster's chest. The trickster was quick though, noticing the hunter behind him in time to turn. His fist connected with Sam's abdomen, sending the bigger man flying.

“Sam!” Dean yelled as his brother crashed into a pile of wooden palettes.

Cas used the distraction to pop in front of Coyote. The trickster was too quick even for the angel, grabbing him by the throat and throwing him across the expansive room.

Dean's eyes darted around, searching for the Impala. They found him, standing stock still, held by the trickster's power.

The monster stopped to look from Dean to the Impala and back again. “I hate killing, but I will do what I must to survive. You know that feeling all too well don't you, Dean?”

“You hate it so much, why'd you use Heather as a chew toy for a shark, or freeze that guy's heart?”

“Why did you kill Amy? Or Jo, or Ellen, or Bob-”

“Don't you dare talk about them.” Dean looked straight into Coyote's eyes, his gaze threatening.

“'Oh, but I didn't kill them',” Coyote said in a mocking, sing-song voice. “Yes, you did. You knew what would happen if they went with you,” Coyote continued, unphased by Dean's threats. “Yes, killing isn't so foreign to you, is it? Oh, especially after purgatory.”

“Cut the crap. What the hell do you want from me?”

“God, you are thick headed, Dean. You've learned nothing, have you?”

“What do you think my humanoid car could teach me?”

Coyote turned his head to the side in a questioning manner. “You haven't discovered anything through the help of your car? Not a single grain of knowledge?”

“Just a reaffirmation I have good taste.”

“That's a big word, Dean.”

“Fuck you.”

The other man smiles broadly. “Now there's the vocabulary you're so familiar with.”

Holding Dean against the wall with his powers, Coyote walks casually over to the unconscious form of Sam and knelt over him.

“Get the fuck away from my brother! Don't you dare touch him!”

Ignoring Dean, Coyote just smiled. “Oh, I won't hurt him. Physically. I'm just going to have Lucifer pay him a little visit. It's been awhile since Sammy's seen him last, hasn't it? I bet they have a lot to catch up on.” His voice was dripping with false sincerity. “Don't worry,” he said with a small shake of his head, “it's not the real Lucifer. Just the one inside Sam's noggin.” Coyote splayed his hand over Sam's forehead, that smile never leaving his face.

Screaming and thrashing, Dean struggled against his invisible bonds. “Sam, wake up! SAMMY!”

Coming out of nowhere, Castiel tackled Coyote. They rolled over each other to land firmly on the ground. From where Dean was, he could hear the air rush out of Cas as his back connected with the cold concrete. Standing up with an angel blade protruded from his chest, the trickster removed it with a laugh.

“You think your god's weapons can destroy me?” Coyote grabbed Castiel by the throat, lifting him in the air. With the monster distracted, the Impala broke free. The trickster stopped with a jerk, a stake protruding from his chest, dark blood pooling around the wound quickly.

“Don't fucking touch my family,” Impala growled, twisting the stake further into Coyote's back.

The trickster coughed, blood now filling his mouth. Howling, he dropped Castiel, grabbing at his wound. “NO,” he screamed, his skin turning red hot. With a sudden burst, he turned to dust, sending ash everywhere.

Dean stumbles forward, finally free to move again. The Impala disappears in the cloud of ash, but that was only a fleeting thought as the he ran to his little brother's still body. “Sammy,” he whispered, almost to himself after he cleared the splintered planks that had fallen on the one thing he was ever given to protect.

His chest heaved a sigh of relief when Sam rolled to his side slowly, coughing. “Sam,” Dean addressed him, kneeling at his brother's side, “you had me going there for a second.”

“I'm,” Sam started, pausing to cough roughly into his hand as he sat up, “good.” Dean put his hand on the big moose's back, helping him up. After another small fit of coughing, he conceded, “I have had better days, though.”

Castiel joined the Winchesters, bending down to lay his fingers on Sam's forehead, healing him completely.

“What happened to the Impala?” Sam asked, looking around.

“He disappeared when he ganked the Coyote,” Dean explained with a deep, lamenting sigh.

“Well, shit.”

“You're telling me.”

Castiel looked between the two as Dean helped Sam to his feet. “Would you like me to bring you back to your hotel room?”

“I prefer normal human means of travel,” Dean said immediately.

“But you're tired. The journey there could be too strenuous-”

“Thanks, Cas. I think we'll be okay,” Sam reassured him as they left the building.

Dean was in no hurry to get to their hotel. At least we still have our supplies. He tried to focus on that silver-lining, but it was hard. That car had been apart of their family since before Dean was even born. It was the closest thing he had to a home. John had given it to him, had hounded him if she wasn't in perfect, factory condition. And now she was gone. His baby. To say he was upset would definitely be an understatement.

“You think she could be back at that diner?” Dean asked hopefully, refusing to let go as he opened the door outside.

Sam didn't answer, he just shrugged, while Castiel offered to go check. Dean didn’t have to reply, since sitting there in the parking lot was a dirty, ash covered, black '67 Chevy Impala. Howling with joy, Dean ran forward, hugging the hood.

“I thought you were gone for good, baby.”

* * *

 

The next day, Dean parked on the street and walked into the crowd of James Dean fans, following the scent of fried food. In the distance, he heard some cover band playing some Led Zeppelin. Not half bad either. He thought they couldn’t have found a more perfect place and time for a hunt. He wished Sam had come with him. Instead his little brother had shrugged and said, “James Dean Festival? That's more your thing than mine, Dean.”

Over the heads of the crowd, a huge white screen was set up. Turning to a chick walking nearby, Dean asked, “So what's with the drive-ins?”

“After sunset they're showing Rebel without a Cause,” she answered with a smile, not-so-subtly eying him.

“Awesome. What do you say you sit with me? See I'm here all alone and I didn't bring a jacket for the cold night weather.” He winked at her, adding in his patented charming smile.

She smiled broadly, toying with her bracelets, until a friend called her over. “Maybe I'll see you later then, rebel,” she said before leaving Dean to join her friends, who giggled and stared as Dean waved her goodbye.

After finishing his fill of artery clogging fries and a bacon cheeseburger, the hunter sighed as he walked around the festival alone. It wasn't that he was bored, far from it, but he wished he had someone, anyone, with him. Even the socially awkward angel would've been better than feeling like such a loner. He wouldn't understand anyways. Dean wanted him there all the same, thinking it might be fun to teach Cas about the awesomeness that is James Dean.

Taking his mind off stupid feelings, he buried himself in car talk as he wandered around the sea of vintage cars in the parking lot. While talking to an owner of a bitchin' red, 1969 Chevy Nova SS, a passing stranger in a leather jacket suddenly addressed Dean.

“Shit, son. I think you'll give those other guppies a run for their money.”

Dean raised an eyebrow. “Excuse me?”

“In the look alike contest. I mean, dammit. You could be his twin. You've even got the posture and everything.”

“Uh, thanks?” Dean answered, thinking maybe he should enter the contest. A few extra bucks wouldn't be bad.

Watching the stranger walk away, Dean dug out his cell phone as it started vibrating in his pocket. “Sammy, this thing is awesome. You should come. They've got sweet rides parked all over the place and babes at every corner. Not that kind of corner.”

“Not what kind of corner?” came the reply. That gravelly voice was definitely not his little brother.

“Cas?”

“Yes, this is Castiel.”

“Oh. Uh. I thought you were Sammy.”

“You were mistaken,” the angel replied.

The hunter rolled his eyes. “Yeah. I noticed.”

“So you are having a good time there?”

“Yeah. Yeah, I am. Anyways, what'dya call for, Cas?”

“Oh. I.” There was a long pause on the other line. Dean was about to ask if the angel was still there, when he heard Cas' deep voice. “I'm bored.”

“Oh.” The men were both silent. Dean didn't realize angels could get bored. Course, Cas wasn't your average, run of the mill, angel. Dean was more than a little excited to have some company, though he made sure to keep his cool. Finally, the hunter let out a sigh and asked, “Do you want to come over here?”

“I would like that very much, Dean. Thank you.” Cas hung up immediately, so Dean put his phone back in his pocket with a shrug, wondering how long until the holy tax accountant would show. Putting his phone away, he looked over the heads of the crowd, trying to spot his angel.

“Dean.”

The hunter turned around, and there was Cas, just a few inches from his face. “Jesus, Cas,” Dean said, flinching.

“Sorry,” the angel apologized, taking a step back.

“So I'm going to go out on a limb here and say you have no idea who James Dean was.”

“He was a popular, and handsome, movie star that died in a famous car accident in 1955.”

Dean was taken aback. “Woah. Even angels liked the guy? I didn’t think they followed celebrities in heaven.”

“They don’t. I just read the festival brochure in your motel room.”

“Ah. Well, whatever. Let's get you some grub.” Dean clapped the angel on the back, leading him through the throng.

“Dean, I'm not hungry,” Cas insisted.

“You don't need to be hungry, you just need to eat it.”

“Angels don't-”

Dean interrupted him. “Need to eat. Yeah. I got it. That doesn't mean you shouldn't enjoy some food every once in a while.”

Castiel sighed in resignation, following Dean through the crowd. He ended up buying a corn dog for the angel, who wondered if breaded and fried mystery meat, (“It’s not actually made of dog, Dean”), was a healthy choice.

“Jesus Christ, Cas. You’ve been spending too much time with Sam. One of the perks of being an angel is you don't have to worry about that stuff. Just try it.”

Cas took a tentative bite, a small smile creeping up the corners of his mouth as he chewed. “This is delicious, Dean,” he told the hunter, his mouth still full.

Dean beamed at Cas, happy to see a rare smile on the angel's face. The rest of the afternoon they spent wandering the booths and looking at cars, Dean teaching Cas about the classics. Overall, Dean was having a great time. The angel was less of a stick in the mud than Dean thought he'd be. He was curious, intuitive, and even made a few jokes here and there, (though not all of them on purpose). As the sun set behind the houses, the two claimed a spot in the field to watch the movie.

“Dammit. I didn't think of chairs or a blanket,” Dean cursed, quickly standing back up, his jeans already damp from the grass.

“Wait here.” Before Dean could ask why, Cas was gone. Within seconds though, the angel was back, holding a thick blanket in his arms.

“Cas, did you just filch a blanket?”

“Borrowed. It's from your motel.”

Dean laughed, helping Cas spread it out over the grass. Probably scared the shit out of Sam. He toed off his boots and sat down on the blanket. Cas followed his example, leaving his shining dress shoes next to Dean's worn down, muddied boots. Sitting down right up against Dean, Cas quickly shifted over, apologizing. The hunter couldn't help staring. Cas never paid any attention to Dean's personal space rules. Why would he start now?

“Dean?”

“Yeah Cas?”

“Do you miss the human incarnation of your car?”

Dean shrugged. “I guess, kind of. I mean, it was nice having someone around who knew what good music is.”

The angel let out a small sigh. “Oh.”

“But I'm glad she's back to being my baby.”

“That car means a lot to you, doesn't it?”

The hunter took a moment to think about it before replying. “Growing up, we moved from place to place. Never really had a home. So, yeah. She's real important to me.”

“I see.” After a long pause, watching the people walk by them looking for places to sit, Cas suggested, “Perhaps you could teach me about good music.” Dean smiled. If he didn't know better, he would've thought Cas was jealous of the Impala.

The movie started up soon after that, and they sat in relative silence, Cas asking a few questions here and there. Somewhere nearing the end, Dean fell asleep, his arms behind his head for a pillow. He didn't wake up until late that night in his motel bed, Sammy snoring in the bed next to his and the angel no where in sight.

* * *

 

That next night they were finally back on the road again. Dean was overjoyed. He'd been itching for the open road again – they'd stayed in that middle-of-nowhere hick town far longer than he wanted. Sam was sitting next to him, trying to sleep, and Cas sat in the backseat, watching Dean and the road with interest. When Dean had woken up with the angel gone, he’d shrugged his shoulders and went back to sleep, trying to ignore the tightness in his chest, thinking Cas wouldn’t be back anytime soon. He’d been surprised to wake up in the morning to the smell of sausage, bacon, and coffee. The angel explained he’d just been out to get breakfast. Just breakfast. He was probably only gone an hour. Dean had smiled, grabbing a breakfast burrito and happily sipped his hot coffee.

Cas’ bright blue eyes in his rear-view mirror kept distracting the older Winchester. “Is there a reason you're staring at me?” Dean asked the angel.

“I find watching you drive interesting. Where are we headed to now?”

Dean sighed. “No idea. Why don't you just relax? And stop staring at me. It's creeping me out.”

“What-”

“Just lay back, close your eyes, and listen to the music.”

After a moment Cas nodded. “I'll try that, then,” he conceded, resting his head back on the seat and closing his eyes. Dean stared intently at the road, willing himself not to watch the practically-sleeping angel.

A few hours later, Dean was getting restless. Sam and Cas were going on about some ancient history crap loud enough that Dean couldn't even hear his music. Slightly annoyed, he pulled the car over to the side of the road at an empty field.

“Why're we stopping?” Cas asked him.

“Because I'm tired of listening to you guys.”

“Are you upset with me?”

“Yes. Well, no. Just – just get out of the car.” Dean got out, Sam following close behind, and went around to the truck to pull out their little cooler.

“I'm sorry if I've done something wrong,” Cas said from right behind Dean, making him jump.

Instead of replying, the hunter took out a cold beer and gave it to the angel. Cas looked at the can he held with confusion, one eyebrow raised. Dean left him there to hand one to Sam before setting the cooler down and getting a beer for himself. Sam leaned leisurely against the hood of the car, sipping at his beer and looking out over the expansive corn field. Dean pulled himself up to sit on the hood next to his brother. After a moment, Cas joined them, standing there awkwardly, watching Dean as if waiting for something to happen.

Dean gestured at the beer in Cas' hand. “You know how to open that?” The angel rolled his eyes. “Then why haven't you?” Cas smiled at that, opened his can, and took a quick sip.

Cas’ eyebrows furrowed as he looked down at the drink in his hand. “This is terrible.”

Sam let out a breathy laugh. “Yeah. It is.”

“Then why are we drinking it?”

The tall man shrugged.

“You get used to it,” Dean said. “Come here.” The angel moved closer to stand next to him. He shifted, fidgeting awkwardly. “I meant up here,” Dean told him, patting the hood next to him.

Worming his way up, Cas crawled up on the hood to sit entirely too close, settling in with his leg flush against Dean's.

Aaaand we’re back. “Dude. A little personal space, maybe?”

“Sorry,” Cas muttered, shifting over slightly. Still too close, but Dean just sighed and called it good. After being with Cas for almost a solid week, Dean was starting to get used to the angel's weird habits.

It was nice, sitting there with people he cared about, watching the skyline in the middle of nowhere. For a little while they could forget about the burdens on their shoulders. At that moment, nothing else mattered.

Even with the peaceful atmosphere, Dean couldn't help thinking about what the Impala had said to him. About Cas. About letting someone else watch out for him for a change. What in the hell did the Impala mean by that, anyways? It wasn't as if Dean did everything by himself. He relied on Sam and Cas to help him out with the hunts. Sometimes he did a little more, but that's because he had to. When they got hurt or injured, Dean had to be the one to take care of them. Maybe he'll ask Sam about it. Later. And of course he'd leave out the part about Cas.

Done with his beer, Dean laid back, one arm under his head, watching the stars above. A moment later and the angel copied him, both arms pillowing his head. Dean turned his head a bit to watch Cas looking up at the night sky with a look of pure serenity.

“I like this.”

Dean started when Cas spoke, turning his away quickly, his cheeks heating. The angel didn't notice any of it.

Sam took a long drag of his beer. “It's nice, isn't it?”

“It is,” Cas answered.

Dean just sighed, willing the redness in his cheeks to go away. What did he have to be embarrassed about, anyways? Cas stared at him all the time, so why couldn’t he stare back every once in awhile? Okay, this was getting out of hand. Of course Dean couldn't watch Cas the way he watched Dean. The angel just didn't understand personal boundaries. In Dean's case, he didn't have a good excuse – he was just being creepy.

The hunter closed his eyes, trying to focus on something else, anything else. He could feel Cas shift next to him, and then warmth against his arm at his side. He couldn't tell if Cas had actually scooted closer, or just put one of his arms down. Either way, he didn't care. Dean couldn’t scold the angel all the time on personal space. Anyways, physical contact with a friend was nice sometimes – in a totally platonic way, of course. Right. Like brothers.

It wasn't long before he fell asleep, comforted by the body heat pressed up against him. It was one of the few times where he actually slept well – deep and peaceful. Until Sam shook him awake, that is.

* * *

 

After a week, the angel was still with the Winchesters. Dean didn't know where Cas usually went whenever he flitted off, but the hunter was glad he was with them instead of there. Just because he liked having him there, didn't mean Dean knew what to do with him. Cas had never really stayed with them for this long before, (when the world wasn't ending). He tried making small talk with the angel a few times. Dean quickly learned that Cas didn't understand the point of it, so he soon stopped trying. Instead he decided to start educating Cas in his favorite pop culture. He started off introducing the angel to Chuck Norris before showing him Braveheart, then moving on to Star Wars. He had a lot of issues with Star Wars until Dean explained it was just fiction, and to shut up and enjoy it.

While the hunter was thinking of what to get next, Cas made a request. “Who is Clarence?” he asked.

“How am I supposed to know?” Dean replied in exasperation.

Sam looked at his brother with a patented bitch face. “He’s talking about the angel.”

“What? There’s an angel named Clarence?” Dean asked in disbelief.

“I don’t know of a Clarence,” Cas chimed in.

Sighing, Sam explained, “From the movie It’s a Wonderful Life.” When it was clear Dean still had no idea what his little brother was talking about, Sam told him, “Just go out and get it.”

Dean threw up his hands in surrender. “Fine! I'll get him the damn movie. Next you'll be wanting to watch Twilight and High School Musical.”

“If I understand it, Twilight is about vampires and werewolves. Wouldn't it be educational for me to watch it so that I could be of better use to you on a hunt?”

Dean ignored the question, pinching the bridge of his nose in irritation while Sam kicked back his head and laughed. Cas seemed like he wanted to ask more about the movie, but didn't, for which Dean was eternally grateful. The last thing he wanted was a Twihard angel on his hands.

The next day Dean and Sam were making sandwiches in the little dining nook of their motel room while Cas sat on the couch watching It's A Wonderful Life. Figuring this was as good a time as any, what  with Cas distracted, Dean asked Sam what he thought of what the Impala had said.

“You really don't get it?” his little brother asked, eyebrows up in disbelief after Dean told him the condensed version of his conversation with the Impala.

“Obviously not,” Dean snapped back.

“You don't ever let anyone take care of you, Dean. Ever.”

Dean shrugged. “I don't need taking care of. I can take care of myself.”

“No. You can't. You're always taking care of me, or Cas, or Charlie, or basically everyone else except yourself. You’ve been through a lot of shit Dean, and you just keep it holed up inside of you, only letting out bits and pieces here and there.”

“I don't need someone kissing my boo-boos, Sam,” Dean said mockingly.

Sam turned to face Dean directly, abandoning his ham and cheese. “That's not what I said, Dean.” His brother sighed, looking into Dean's eyes. Dean thought he looked sad, like he pitied Dean. Dean hated that look. He didn't want, he didn't need, anyone's pity. Sam's, least of all. “When I get hurt, you're always there to bandage me up. When was the last time you let me, or anyone for that matter, bandage your wounds. Physical, or emotional.”

Dean stared at his meat filled sandwich as if it was holding back answers. “Alright, well. I'm done with this “talking” crap.”

“Yeah,” Sam let out breathily. “Okay, Dean.”

* * *

 

Not much later and the Winchesters, plus the angel, were in yet another crappy motel without a decent air conditioner. Dean could hear Sam snoring heavily in the bed next to his. He was used to it after all these years, even found comfort in it. Sammy's snores were as effective as bells – letting Dean know where his little brother was and that he was okay.

The hunter shifted a little, trying to get comfortable despite the heat. It wasn't exactly unusual for Dean to have trouble sleeping, but feeling the eyes of an angel on him definitely didn't help.

“Cas,” he whispered.

After a few seconds, the angel padded over. How was he moving so quietly? “Wait, did you take off your shoes?”

“Uh,” Cas said, hesitating. “It seemed appropriate since everyone was getting comfortable. And it is quite warm in here. Is it bothering you? Would you like me to put them back on?”

“No, keep them off. Relax.” Wait, could the angel even feel heat? He always wears that damn trenchcoat, I didn't think he even noticed the temperature. The hunter shrugged, mumbling, “I mean, do whatever you want, man.”

“Is that what was keeping you awake?”

“No, actually. It's your staring. Hard to sleep when you've got an itch between your shoulders.”

“Would you like me to scratch your back, Dean?” The angel's voice was a low, gravelly whisper, and Dean absently wondered if his voice ever got hoarse.

“What? That's not-” Dean stopped to actually think about Cas' offer. It was a reasonable, and totally not sexual, request. From his best friend. Who he may have some unresolved, inappropriate feelings for. Not weird at all. His back was feeling kind of tense. “Actually...could you?”

“Of course, Dean. Anything to help you sleep,” Cas answered, sitting down next to the Winchester. Dean practically purred as Cas gently moved his hands and nails over the hunter's back and shoulders.

It kind of bugged Dean how comfortable he was with Castiel touching him in such a familiar way. It was innocent, and affectionate, and Dean was loving it. Though he'd never admit that to anyone, probably not even himself. As he drifted back to sleep, he realized that this was what children felt when their parents stroked their arm or rubbed their back to comfort them. That everything was going to be okay, because they're there – watching over you.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ah!!! The last chapter! I actually finished it! Who would've thunk it? Glad I was able to finish this before NaNoWriMo. It would've driven me nuts for the next month. Again, sorry I'm horrible at updating, but here's the finished product! WOOT! Hope you guys all like it. I might add a schmoopy epilogue, but that won't be until December because I'm busy writing a novel. 
> 
> Thank you all for reading and supporting me <3

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you liked it! Sorry the first few chapters are kind of really short. Some feedback would be appreciated. Please?


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